


That's Life

by pocketedwocket



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-17
Updated: 2008-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:05:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketedwocket/pseuds/pocketedwocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing could ever come between the Vega brothers. Except for the one thing that did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Life

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jules for being my sounding board on this one.
> 
> Written for mediasavant

 

 

 _"You're riding high in April, shot down in May..."_

\--"That's Life", Frank Sinatra

***

Four years is a long time, and every single step further from the prison cell is a step closer to freedom. The guard at the counter pulls the manila envelope out from under the desk and lets it down with a thump. He tears off the top with little regard and dumps the contents out in front of him.

"One black leather wallet," the man says, and he slides it toward Vic. "One wristwatch." _Slide._ "One photograph." _Slide._

The picture was taken just over four years ago. _Amsterdam._

Vic tosses it in the trashcan on the way out.

***

_"I hate to break it to you, Vincent, but Amsterdam isn't all you cracked it up to be," Vic says, clearing his throat. "So far all I've seen is a bunch of funny-lookin' buildings with strange names." He eyes his older brother, who is lying down on the ratty, tattered couch with his bare feet hanging over the edge of one armrest. The guy is working for Marsellus Wallace, and he can't afford a decent sofa?_

"What, you want to go to a museum or something? They got a bunch of those here. Lots of art and shit. They got a Anne Frank museum; you wanna go to the Anne Frank museum?"

"Fuck Anne Frank."

"I guess that's a no then," Vincent says with an apprehensive chuckle. He slicks his hair back with one hand. "You hungry? You want to get something to eat?"

"They got a Big Kahuna Burger over here?"

"Aw, don't be no idiot, Vic, of course they ain't got a Big Kahuna Burger. You know they speak -" Vincent pauses and thinks for a moment, "Hollish or some weird fuckin' language like that. They've probably got a Eikel-burger or something."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Vic asks, cracking a slight smile for the first time. His brother should stick to English. 

"I don't know. Some chick said it to me at a bar last night."

Vic pretends to think it over.

"Yeah, that sounds good. So what's on the menu at Ugly Fucker Burgers?" Vic snickers. Vincent sits up and reaches across the table to knock Vic upside the head.

"Don't be an asshole, Victor," Vincent tells him. He takes a drag from the joint he has between his thumb and forefinger. "Here, try some of this stuff, man," he says, reaching the blunt out to offer it to his younger brother. Vic shakes his head and holds up a hand. "Aw, come on, it's legal over here, did you know that?"

"Of course I fucking knew that, Vincent. That's the one thing everybody knows about Amsterdam. That's the only reason people come to Amsterdam. That and the girls. I just ain't into that shit. Fucks with your mind."

Vincent cracks up, a grin spreading across his face.

"Whatever you say, bro."

***

Vic remembers the day he got the envelope, crinkled and worn, with a few foreign stamps in the upper right-hand corner. The postmark said Amsterdam. _Who the fuck did he know in Amsterdam?_ A plane ticket fluttered to the floor as he tore the envelope open, and a quick scan of the note inside revealed a name at the bottom - _Vincent_. Son of a bitch. His brother had the balls to send him a ticket to some country halfway across the world, completely ignoring the fact that they hadn't spoken in the last twenty years? The nerve of the dick. He crumples the letter up and tosses it on the floor.

A week later Vic finds himself at the airport, suitcase in hand.

***

_The room fills with an awkward silence. He hates those._

"You wanna know why I sent you that ticket?"

Vic shifts uncomfortably.

"I'd prefer you keep the bullshit to yourself so I can go back to hating you when this is over."

"Aw, come on, you don't hate me," Vincent says playfully, but Vic looks at him with a steely gaze. "Okay, fine. But that was practically a million years ago, Vic; you gotta get over that eventually. It's not my fault, man. I was a kid."

"So was I."

Vincent bites his tongue. "Look, what I did wasn't right, man. It wasn't right."

"You're damn right it wasn't right, Vince. That's the shittiest piece of shit thing anyone's ever done to me."

"Would you stop making me feel so fucking guilty? I apologized, alright? I'm sorry! I shouldn't have walked out on you and left you when mom died. I'm real fuckin' sorry!"

"Don't talk about her," Vic warns in a gravelly voice. Vincent throws his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Fine, I won't! Why the hell did you gotta bring this up all of a sudden?" 

Vic raises an eyebrow. "You thought I wouldn't? You invite me to come visit after I haven't seen hide nor hair of you since I was fifteen years old, and you think I wasn't _gonna mention that you left a fucking kid to try and fend for himself without any family while you were out in who-knows-fucking-where schmoozing and getting high? You're even dumber than I thought."_

"Come on, man, don't be like this," Vincent pleads. Vic gets up wordlessly and grabs his wallet. He doesn't bother to collect any of the rest of his things from Vincent's tiny apartment; he doesn't bother to go into the back room to grab his suitcase. "Look, I'll find you and give you a call when I get back home, bro, okay?" Vincent says apologetically.

"Don't bother, bro _," Vic mutters under his breath dryly. He walks out the door._

***

Vic has just enough cash in his wallet to pay for a one-way ticket back into the States. It's a red-eye flight, but he doesn't sleep at all. Instead, he fucks a flight attendant in the tiny airline bathroom (a charming smile can go a long way) and spends the rest of his trip looking out the window, staring at nothing. They don't serve any meals (not even those little bags of peanuts) and nobody brings the alcohol cart around - it's a shame. Vic would've drank something. He would've drank a lot.

He checks his watch when the plane starts to descend down the runway. Vic hopes Eddie will be up this early - he'll need someone to pick him up from the airport.

***

_One afternoon in Amsterdam a man comes up to them and offers to take their picture with a beaten-up Polaroid camera. Vincent thinks it's a good idea, and drags a reluctant Vic into the frame with him. He tosses an arm around Vic's shoulder and urges "smile" through his gritted teeth. Vic looks up at the last second just as the flash goes off._

Vic steps forward and rips the picture away before Vincent can get to it. He hands the photographer a few Euros and sticks the photo into his jacket.

"Aw, come on, man, I want that. It'll be a good photo," Vincent says, reaching for Vic's arms. Vic swats him away.

"I'm sure you think so."

"Just don't trash it, alright?" Vincent asks. Vic rolls his eyes and sticks his hands in his pockets. The tram will be here in any minute.

***

"All right, listen, I know this is sort of late notice, but you just got back and we had no way of getting in touch with you while you were halfway across the fucking world. By the way, how was it? Your brother still the same asshole he was twenty years ago? Don't answer that. So there's this job in two days, and one of the guys just pulled out on us. We need you for it, Vic, or we're screwed. It's nothing big, just moving some hot goods, right? Real simple. You in?"

Vic smiles. It's good to be home.

"Jesus, Eddie, take a breath. I'm in." 

 


End file.
